


Floriography, but the passive aggressive kind

by yourfriendlyneighbourhoodme



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 07:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourfriendlyneighbourhoodme/pseuds/yourfriendlyneighbourhoodme
Summary: Based off an OTP prompt: Person A runs a flower shop, then enters Person B who asks, 'how do I passive aggressively say 'fuck you' in flower?'Eliza Schuyler runs a flower shop and is surprised by a particularly enthusiastic visitor with a request she's certainly never had before.





	Floriography, but the passive aggressive kind

Elizabeth Schuyler gently places the tulips in the vase at the edge of the counter, and surveys the morning’s handiwork. 

There are fresh roses by the door, the rhododendron plant has swiftly recovered from the droopy leaves it possessed only yesterday, and Forget-Me-Nots( Eliza’s favourite by far) dangle in baskets from the ceiling. Not many customers into her tiny shop, but she’s proud of her efforts. 

She turns and goes behind the main shop, entering the kitchen to make herself another cup of tea. She debates between camomile and lavender before chucking both tea bags in the biggest mug she owns, deciding it’s worth it. She smiles at the mug, which has Parisian landmarks painted on it; a gift from her sister Angelica after her trip to Paris with her fiancé Thomas. 

Eliza checks her watch, and smiles. Only forty minutes to her lunch break, and she’s meeting her other sister, Peggy, at her favourite restaurant, a sandwich place only a five minute walk from her flower shop. 

She hums as she pours the hot water into the tea, then stands up straighter upon hearing the bell by the door, a sign that she has a customer. Abandoning her tea, she walks out to the front of the shop, and smiles at the young man who is standing by the counter. 

He slams twenty bucks on the wooden surface, and asks:

“How do I passive aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flower?” 

Eliza stares at him. This is partially because of his words, partially because dear lord, this boy is cute. He stares back, his eyes sparkling intelligently, an unknown fire blazing in them. Eliza mentally slaps herself, trying to remember how to string sentences together. One word, then another, perhaps a verb? 

“Depends.” She answers, attempting nonchalance, “on who you’re sending it to.”

“What do you mean?” The boy frowns, so she continues. 

“Depends on whether it’s a friend, a relative, a partner.” 

He looks thoughtfully at her.

“Well, now that you mention it, I’d love to send a string of angry flowers to my ex girlfriend Cornelia, but this particular flower is for my despised work colleague.” 

“A work colleague?” She replies, and he grins. “I’ve never seen that before.” She admits, blushing when his grin widens further.

“The ideal situation would be to just tell him how I hate him, but he already knows and our boss has banned us from talking to each other.” 

Eliza laughs, and is pleased to see amusement twinkle in his eyes as well. 

“Meadowsweet emphasises uselessness. That might be fitting.” She begins thoughtfully, coming out from behind the counter to wander around the shop. “Or there’s basil for pure hatred, if that’s what you’re going for.” She turns around to see him sitting up on the counter, watching her with a pleased look. She blushes, then continues. “Or geraniums for foolishness.” She sighs. “Other stuff is good as well, such as narcissi-“

“The one who fell in love with his own reflection.” He interrupts, and she nods. 

“That’s the one. But it’s the wrong season for them, I’m afraid.” She shrugs her shoulders gently. 

He ponders her words, then smiles.

“Can I take a bouquet with all three?” He asks, grinning like a child asking for more ice cream.

She laughs, and nods, and points to a pot over by the left. 

“The geraniums are the purple ones on the second shelf.” He obediently hops off of the desk and goes over to where she’s pointing as she plucks some meadowsweet, then returns to the counter to gather some basil from the pot near her chair. 

He brings over the flowers, and she lays all of them on the counter. “How fancy do you want the decoration?” She asks, picking up a layer of purple tissue paper off of a shelf. 

“Very fancy. The fancier it is, the more I piss Thomas off. Especially if it’s purple, he loves purple.” He laughs, and she smiles warmly at him, somehow liking him despite his odd requests and open hatred of someone, as Eliza tends to disapprove of hatred, banning it from her own life as she simply believes that it takes up too much energy.

“What has this Thomas done?” She asks, trying to continue the conversation between them, sensing that this boy will willingly tell her every fault that Thomas has ever possessed.

“He’s an asshole.” He replies instantly, causing Eliza to laugh, and he frowns. “He’s mean.” He mutters, folding his arms grumpily. 

“I’m sure he is.” She tells him with a smile, and he breaks his sulk as she ties a golden ribbon around the quickly but neatly assembled bouquet. “Would you like a note?” 

“Yes, yes.” He grasps his hands together excitedly, and gives her an enthusiastic nod.

Eliza takes a pen and hands it to him, but he gives it back. “Could you write it?” He asks shyly, and she smiles. “I don’t want him to recognise my handwriting. Then our boss could prove it was me, and seeing as we’re not allowed to talk to each other I’m guessing that sending notes is too.” 

“But sending passive aggressive flowers isn’t?” She laughs as he blushes, and shakes her head. “What would you like me to write?” She continues as she takes the pen and pulls a piece of purple paper off the pile underneath a small flower pot. 

“Dear Mr Jefferson,” He dictates, “Only the best flowers for you, you bastard.” Eliza looks up at him in surprise, having recognised the name, having only suspected before. 

“This is for Thomas Jefferson?” She asks, and he nods. 

“Do you know him?” He screws up his face in distaste, which Eliza only finds incredibly endearing. 

“You’re Alexander Hamilton, aren’t you?” 

He nods, and Eliza is annoyed to find that the man who is meant to be so annoying actually seems kinda nice, if you’re not Jefferson. And super cute. She’ll have words with Thomas later about all this bad press.

“How do you know that jerk?” 

She holds out her hand. 

“Elizabeth Schuyler, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Schuyler?” 

“I’m a sister of Jefferson’s fiancée Angelica.” She explains, and his eyes widen in mock horror. 

“You are a friend of the enemy.” He hisses, but she only laughs at him. “I still don’t know how Thomas Jefferson managed to get anyone to fall in love with him.”

“Relax, I own a flower shop. How like Thomas Jefferson do you really think I am?” She reassures him as she cuts the note carefully and ties it onto the bouquet. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t know.” Alexander says carelessly. “Perhaps I’d have to take you to dinner to find out.” He winks at her, and she blushes, then chuckles. 

“Smooth.” She hands him the bouquet. “I like Italian food.” He lights up with these words. 

“Do you know Howard’s?” He asks, and she nods. “Can I meet you there at seven?”

“I’ll look forward to it.” She says, taking the twenty he’d previously given her and sliding over the change. “Say hi to my future brother in law for me.” 

He winks again, and holds the bouquet gently in his arms. 

“Thank you for your help, Elizabeth.”

“Please, call me Eliza.” She corrects, and he smiles warmly, and it’s a smile that lights up his whole face, right up to those beautiful eyes. 

“Well, Eliza, I’ll see you later.” There’s a flirtatious smirk on his lips as he says his parting words that makes her heart skip about ten beats.

And with that Alexander is gone, and Eliza settles down in her chair, suddenly remembering the cup of tea she’s abandoned in the kitchen. She sighs contentedly.

Well. What a ten minutes.


End file.
